Page 23 of Lethal Deceit (Hightower Security #2)

Samantha

The murmur of male voices merges with the frantic pounding of my heart.

Muscle Man is not happy. Who knows what he’ll do. Maybe change his mind and hand me over to the PD?

I’m completely at their mercy, and thanks to Mick’s confusing kindness, I’m making foolish errors that could cost me my life.

Quickly, I snap my bra on, grab the sewing kit, slide the memory card into my bra, and toss the kit into the trash. But even that doesn’t dampen the panic raging like a wildfire inside me.

I smear my hand over the fogged-up mirror and growl at myself. My lips are still swollen from his stubble. What was I thinking kissing him? And what am I supposed to do now?

One little kiss hasn’t changed anything between us. It can’t have. He’s still law enforcement, and I’m still a criminal in his eyes.

Pulling my shoulders back, I dress in my borrowed clothes, leaving my feet bare, toss his socks back on his bed, and cross the room so I can listen at the door.

Nothing. Either they’ve gone silent, or I missed his exit. Stupid, really. I should have stayed around in case I heard something I could use in my favor.

Mick is in the kitchen when I enter, his back to me, and is washing dishes with too much gusto not to be angry at me.

Before I can speak, he preempts me.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

“Says who?”

He turns, soapy water dripping off his hands as he pokes his thumb into his chest. “Me.”

For some stupid reason, I feel like arguing with him.

“Are you sorry you kissed me or sorry you got caught doing it?”

He shakes his head and turns back to the sink.

“I don’t know. But I won’t let it happen again. It can’t.”

His coldness after such a hot kiss grates on me.

“Because I’m going to jail?”

He mutters something so low I can’t make it out.

“What did you say?”

“I said, I don’t know.”

At least we’ve got that straight. Everything else might be a mess, but it’s clear where he draws the line.

“Got it. No point investing anything in me when I’ll be behind bars before too long. Guess I’m not worth the time after all.”

He spins around, a flash of anger crossing his face.

“That’s not what I said. Don’t twist my words.”

I shrug.

“I’m not. I’m just filling in the blanks. It’s fine. I have no expectations. At least we know where we stand.”

His expression softens.

“We stand on opposite sides of the law, Samantha. Forgive me if I’m having a hard time dealing with that.”

I laugh lightly.

“There’s nothing to deal with. Just let me walk out the door, and you’ll never have to see me again.”

The bowl he’s holding onto slips out of his hands and into the water.

“Even if that was what I wanted, that’s not an option.”

I flip my hair behind my shoulders, trying to stay calm while my insides are churning. I’m supposed to be in control, but he’s making me feel things I never have before.

“So, what do you want?”

His jaw works as he fishes the bowl out of the water. Then his expression sets before he says.

“What I always want. To see justice done.”

I speak without thinking, and with so much malice he recoils as though I’ve struck him.

“Yeah, well. Good luck. I’ve waited a whole lifetime, and I’ve never seen justice.”

When he has no reply, I lace my tone with venom.

“But go ahead and believe you can make a difference. You can’t.”

He dumps the dish back into the sink and stalks toward me.

“Did it make a difference to you when I pulled you out of the water?”

I toss my head.

“My life is over anyway. You just bought me some time.”

He frowns and glances at his phone, as if remembering what I said about his parents.

“Do you feel better about yourself when you rip into other people? Is that why you do it?”

“What? No.”

With a head shake, he grabs hold of my hands and drags me toward him.

I tug against him, but his grip is too strong.

“What are you doing?”

Still holding my hands, he nods toward the exit.

“From the front door, you can’t see into the kitchen.”

My eyes widen as he explains.

“Silas Hightower is testing my integrity, but he’s the best chance we have right now.”

I swallow, my throat thickening as he caresses the top of my hand with his thumb. “We?”

His lip curls.

“Yeah. We. We’re in this together now.”

“You don’t believe I’m a terrorist?”

A shadow crosses his face, and it sends a shiver down my spine.

“I believe there’s more to you than you want people to see.”

For a second, I forget how to breathe. Not because he’s wrong, but because people only ever see what I let them. He shouldn’t be looking deeper—not him.

I force a smirk. If I don’t, I’ll flinch. And if I flinch, he wins.

“Does that mean you’ll let me go?”

Rather than respond, he draws me closer. His chin whiskers tickle my earlobe as he leans in.

“I don’t think I could let you go now even if I wanted to,”

he whispers.

I don’t respond. I can’t. This is getting real, and I don’t do real.

Instead, I plaster on my demure smile, ease a butter knife off the countertop, and slide it up my sleeve.